


Viscum album

by spilled_notes



Series: December of Drabbles [6]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8977813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: You didn't honestly think I'd be able to resist a wee fix to The Nightmare Before Christmas now, did you?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Viscum album_ is the Latin name for European mistletoe.

They’re stood beside each other at the nurses station, not even looking at the same file, not even talking, but still close enough that their arms are pressed together. Serena doesn’t seem to be able to get enough of this, neither of them do. However much they touch, kiss, however many nights they spend together, however much of Bernie’s body she gets to worship, it still isn’t enough. She wonders if it ever will be, if they’ll ever get their fill of each other. If they’ll ever stop longing to be close, stop instinctively gravitating towards each other.

‘Have you seen my iPad?’ Morven asks, breathless, hurrying over and frantically searching under the papers on the desk.

‘Ah,’ Fletch says, glancing at the curtains drawn around Artie’s bed. ‘Reckon I can have a good guess where it’s gone.’

He strides across the ward, Morven in his wake, pulls back the curtain to find Artie with the missing tablet in his hands.

Serena raises her eyes to the ceiling tiles in despair and catches sight of the mistletoe Morven hung earlier. She nudges Bernie, who follows her gaze before meeting her eye and smiling. The backs of their hands brush, little fingers just curling and linking for a moment.

*

Later, in their office, with the door closed but the blinds open, Serena holds a tiny offcut from the sprig over their heads. She catches at Bernie’s hand again, this time all of their fingers twining. The kiss is almost chaste. Almost. They are still at work, after all. Plenty of time for more ( _deeper, longer, further_ ) later.

And it feels like home, kissing her like this.


	2. Chapter 2

Later, once Bernie has comprehensively and mercilessly beaten them all (even Artie, to Serena’s mingled pride and disapproval) and amassed a small fortune in chocolate coins (most of which, Serena notes with a smile, she slips to Fletch for the kids), they wrap themselves up to head home. Serena settles her hat on her head, pulls on her gloves and glances at the clock: 11.45 on Christmas Eve.

‘Albie’s?’ Bernie suggests as they leave side by side, arms brushing, calling Christmas wishes to the remaining staff. ‘I’m sure there’s still a bottle of Shiraz with your name on it,’ she teases.

But when they step into the lift Serena’s fingers hesitate over the buttons, and to Bernie’s confusion she finally presses the one for the top floor. Wordlessly Serena takes her hand and leads her out onto the roof. It’s clear and crisp, the stars so bright they’re almost harsh. There’ll be a frost tonight, a white Christmas of sorts.

‘Christ, it’s cold,’ Bernie exclaims, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle as the wind cuts right through her and whips the plumes of her breath away as soon as they leave her lips.

But Serena’s gazing up at the sky, apparently oblivious.

_Alright for those of us with a dead animal on our head,_ Bernie grumbles to herself.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Bernie agrees. And she does glance up at the stars, honest. But not for long. Her eyes are drawn back to Serena’s face, soft with happiness and wonder. ‘Dance with me?’ she asks, offering one gloved hand.

‘No music,’ Serena points out.

‘I’m sure we can make our own,’ Bernie smiles, drawing Serena into her arms until they’re pressed close.

‘Oh holy night,’ Serena begins quietly.

‘The stars are brightly shining,’ Bernie joins in, waltzing them in a tight circle around the rooftop as bells start to ring out across the city, snatches of carillons drifting on the wind.

Serena raises her head, meets Bernie’s eye, and they slow to a halt in one corner of the roof.

‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ Serena smiles.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Bernie replies.

Serena leans up and kisses her, lips almost searing in the cold.

‘No mistletoe.’

‘I hardly think I need an excuse,’ Serena says, eyebrow arching as she brushes their lips again before settling back into Bernie’s hold, shifting her weight slightly.

Bernie takes the hint and sets off again, hand slipping further around Serena’s back as they pivot and spin under the glittering stars.


End file.
